


Last-minute Reprieve

by thepurplewombat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: EWE, Everyone thinks they're idiots, F/M, Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, Pining, Plotting by side characters, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Wow, much woe, post-DH, such pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 17:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16728180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepurplewombat/pseuds/thepurplewombat
Summary: With less than twenty-four hours to go before Hermione marries Ron Weasley, Headmaster Snape realises that he has to do something or lose the love of his life. It turns out that there's rather more to the situation than he'd thought.





	Last-minute Reprieve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [corvusdraconis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvusdraconis/gifts).



> Written for Corvusdraconis as a gift exchange, to the prompt: Hermione is getting married tomorrow-- to Ronald B. Weasley. He has less than 24 hours to confess the truth or forever hold his peace. (or pieces)
> 
> So here is a heaping serving of fluff, spiced with some humour and an extra-strength shot of Mutual Pining.
> 
> Thanks to Fawkeslady for her brilliant beta - some of the best lines are hers.

 

Severus stood in the door of Hogwarts’ Transfiguration classroom, watching quietly as Hermione packed up her possessions. The witch had finally caved to the pressure from what seemed like most of the wizarding world and, presumably, her biological clock, and agreed to marry the youngest Weasley boy. Severus was disturbed, the idea manifesting as a weight, centered in his chest.. Said weight grew heavier with every day as the wedding drew closer. Now, in just over twenty-four hours she was due to say her vows before her friends and family and bind herself forever to Ronald Bilius Weasley . Severus felt as though his heart had converted into a black hole, threatening to suck him into its event horizon as he folded in upon himself under the crushing force of his own confusion, never to be seen again.

Of course, it could be the thought of interviewing for a new Transfiguration teacher that was weighing him down. He _hated_ doing interviews and, as a result, had hired Granger the moment she completed her apprenticeship with Minerva, leaving the elder witch free to enjoy her retirement. Yes, it was probably the sense of doom he associated with the misery of interviewing sixteen million morons in an attempt to fill the vacancy. A cursory review of the applications that she’d already solicited on his behalf was disheartening. None of the candidates were nearly as suitable.

He didn’t like change. Hermione had been teaching Transfiguration for five years. He’d gotten used to her, dammit, and didn’t feel like breaking in a new teacher at his age.

It certainly wasn’t the thought of not seeing her every day, hearing her thoughts over breakfast and catching passing glimpses of her mad curls in the corridors. He was nearly 90% sure that it absolutely was not that he thought he was going to miss trouncing her at chess. Bless her, she tried so hard, but he’d never met anyone who was so brilliant and yet quite so hopeless at the game in his life. It definitely wasn’t the idea of losing their three-evenings-a-week coffee and reading marathons. Nor the thought that another man would soon have leave to touch and caress all that smooth golden skin - that he’d seen only once, when her parents had dragged them to the beach in Australia when they had repaired the Grangers’ memories.

He was concerned Hermione had never…dabbled in love, as so many of her peers had done. That startling confession came out when they were both a bit merry on elf-made wine.

She’d explained that at first there had never been the time, and then there hadn’t been the inclination. “It felt like, you know, I’d made it through the war with it, so it became a bit…precious, if that makes any sense. Not something to be got rid of or given to just anyone, you know? And besides, is it such a bad thing that I’ll be able to wear white on my wedding day without feeling the fraud?”

He’d agreed that of course it wasn’t a bad thing, and the subject had been dropped, but the knowledge of her intact state had haunted him ever since, popping up at the most inconvenient times. They’d be arguing about magical theory and his brain would pop up to shout ‘ _she’s a virgin’_ at him, and he’d completely lose track of his argument. On his more paranoid days, Severus wondered if she’d told him on purpose, just to drive him bananas. It wasn’t that he wanted to deflower her himself, of course it wasn’t. He just wanted whoever it was to take the appropriate care with her, to cherish her the way an extraordinary witch like her _should_ be cherished. No, it definitely wasn’t that he expected Ronald Weasley, stupid man-child he still likely was, would neglect to take the proper care for her. Severus knew viscerally he could do a better job of making her first time spectacular than the orange ape. No, he told himself, he just thought he could do better.

It wasn’t any of that, because Severus Snape was _not that stupid_. One case of unrequited love was enough for a lifetime, and he was certainly not about to go through _that_ again.

And yet…

He was startled out of his thoughts when Hermione suddenly slammed her wand down on the desk and stood staring and sightless, her shoulders heaving. Almost immediately he was across the room, stroking soothing circles down the middle of her back until her breathing eased.

Her panic attacks had become much rarer since she’d started teaching at Hogwarts, and as far as he knew she hadn’t refilled her prescription of Dreamless Sleep in six months.

The moment sense started to return to her intelligent eyes he stepped a safe distance away, refusing to inflict further contact on her. She turned her head and smiled at him, but her pale face was set and the fright in her wide dark eyes made it too much like the grimace of a witch heading for an unavoidable task. Nothing like a happy young bride.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” she whispered, and looked back out over the empty classroom.

They stood in silence for a few moments, looking at the desks where students would be sitting again come September, learning Transfiguration from someone who wasn’t Hermione Granger.

It was, inevitably, Hermione who broke the silence, turning to him with haunted, hopeful eyes and biting her bottom lip the way she did when she was about to do something very Gryffindor.

“Do you think I’m doing the right thing, Severus?” she asked, reaching for his hand.

Severus ached to say ‘no’, to ask her to stay at the castle, and even, selfishly, to stay with him. But he was no idiot, and there was only one thing a bride wanted to hear in response to a question like that on the day before her wedding.

So he wrapped both his hands around her delicate fingers, looked her earnestly in the eyes, and lied his arse off.

“Yes,” he said. “You are doing the right thing, Hermione. It would not do to bury yourself in this castle for the rest of your life.”

To his consternation, her face fell, and for a moment he almost thought that she might cry, but she summoned a brave smile and squeezed his hands.

“Thank you, Severus,” she said softly, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll…I’ll miss you. You’ll write, won’t you?”

He was still standing there, flummoxed, as she summoned the last of her possessions. The paralysis did not break, not even for the arresting vision of her looking back at him one last time before she stepped through the Floo and was gone from Hogwarts.

Eventually he shook himself out of his shocked daze and wandered through the corridors to his office, just barely stopping his hand from tracing the imprint of her lips on his cheek.

“What’s wrong with you?” Phineas demanded when Severus strolled into his office, confused and lost in spirit. Severus ignored the crotchety portrait and settled himself in the Headmaster’s ornate (and very comfortable, despite its appearance) chair. He steepled his fingers under his chin and tried to analyze what his mind was trying to understand. A difficult task when his heart was shouting incoherently.

She’d kissed his cheek. She’d looked disappointed.

 _Why_ had she kissed his cheek? They didn’t have that sort of relationship. Of course, sometimes touch was unavoidable, such as in handing over a book or serving tea, but she’d always withdrawn just as sharply as he had.

Had she…

Could she…

Was it possible, Severus wondered, that she’d avoided touching him for the same reason he avoided touching _her_?

No, some rational part of him objected, it definitely _wasn’t_ possible, and he was daft for even considering the possibility.

And yet, some other part of him - the eternally hopeful part of him that no amount of life experience had yet managed to murder - perked up.

“As I see it,” he said aloud, rising to pace the carpet in front of the desk, “there are two possibilities. The first is that she finds me distasteful-”

“Are we talking about Professor Granger?” Dilys demanded, leaning forward in her chair.

Severus scowled, but nodded. This was not a problem he was going to sort out on his own and, much as he hated to admit it, the portraits of former Headmasters - and Mistresses, let’s not forget those - had become…friends. Of a sort. Grumpy, opinionated friends to be sure, but since Severus was on the cantankerous side himself, and definitely qualified as opinionated, they got along fairly well. With one glaring exception, who had volunteered to spend his days in his Ministry portrait.

Volunteering under threat of turpentine was still volunteering, right? Right.

Severus shook his head, trying to get his thoughts in order.

Damn the witch! She’d turned his brain into mush!

“She doesn’t find you distasteful,” Phineas said firmly, to nods of agreement from the rest. “Do you think people spend hours playing a game that they are, frankly, awful at, to please someone they find _distasteful_? Where is your brain, boy?”

“You’re one to talk,” Dippet snapped across the room. “You don’t _have_ one, Black.”

“I might not have a brain,” Phineas Nigellus said, very much on his dignity, “but I’m clearly making better use of what I _do_ have than our revered Headmaster over there.”

“Point, Phineas, definitely a point,” Dilys said with a smile.

Severus scowled at them all.

“So you’re saying…”

“Definitely not distasteful, I believe was the conclusion,” Phineas Nigellus said with a brisk nod. “Now, tell us what your other possibility is.”

“That she…may possibly…that she feels…”

“That she fancies you like mad and would like to marry you and have lots and lots of magical sex and give you enough little darling babies to field a competitive potions team?”

“Dilys!” Severus couldn’t quite tell who the source of the shout was, since it seemed to come from all four sides. To his mortification, a blush crept up his face and his ears heat up.

“What?” Dilys said with a shrug. “It’s what we’re all thinking.”

“How can I be certain, though?” Severus burst out, staring at the portraits. The entire situation was ridiculous, and most ridiculous of all was that he was blushing like some callow schoolboy. It wasn’t as if he was inexperienced, after all. Some women were attracted to power, and he’d taken ample advantage of that fact since his release from hospital after the Nagini Incident. But somehow, merely discussing the possibility that Hermione might feel…something more…for him was enough to make him blush bright red. Worse, it was entirely too late to do something about it.

 _Or not entirely_ , a little voice said in the back of his mind, but he dismissed it. This was just an…an intellectual exercise. Definitely. He was just _curious_ , he didn’t intend to actually _do_ anything with the knowledge.

“Have you considered asking her?” Dippet said. “That’s really the only way to know.”

“Or,” Phineas said with a significant sneer at the Penseive cupboard, “you could take an objective look at her behavior.”

Severus stared at the cupboard.

That was…that was really an excellent idea. It was the work of but a moment to unward the cupboard, extract several memories, and dive in.

As it turned out, he needed to view only one memory.

It was from three months earlier, during one of their evenings together. Given how confused he was at the moment, Severus appreciated the serene quiet of the atmosphere between them. Nobody would ever believe it, but Severus had never met anyone quite so comfortable with silence as Hermione. Often, during these evenings, they exchanged only a few words. The rest of the time, they sat quietly in facing armchairs, reading or marking or researching, only occasionally speaking up to relate whatever had caught their interest.

This particular evening, Severus had been working on essays from his NEWT DADA class while Hermione had been snickering quietly over the answers to a recent pop quiz.

Severus stationed himself so that he could see her clearly, and watched the evening unfold.

The first thing he noticed was that he wasn’t nearly as sneaky as he thought. Really, only the fact that Hermione was virtually oblivious to the entire world when she was working had saved him from being discovered as he sneaked peeks through his hair whenever she wasn’t looking.

The second, was that he was totally _fucking oblivious_. That was the only explanation Severus could think of for not having noticed the way that Hermione kept sneaking peeks at _him_ whenever he wasn’t looking. She wasn’t being even a little bit subtle about it, for Merlin’s sake! Once, she spent nearly three entire minutes gazing at his down-turned head and nibbling on her bottom lip, her expression dazed and dreamy, before jerking herself back to her work.

Finally, she stood up and offered coffee, heading into her tiny kitchen to procure some.

Severus followed her, leaving his memory-self to read essays.

 _Essays_! As if essays could compare to Hermione! He really was a fool, wasn’t he?

He watched Hermione make the coffee, catching the longing glances she cast at the back of his head as she worked, and followed her back to the living room. She leaned over the back of his chair to place the cup on the small side table.

Memory Severus read on with a grunt of thanks, totally unaware of the way the little witch closed her eyes and breathed in, deeply but quietly, as though she wanted to draw his scent into her body and keep it there forever.

And the next moment she was calm and collected again, seating herself in her armchair and immersing herself back into her work.

Severus left the Penseive without watching the rest of the memories.

There was no need.

Hermione definitely felt _something_ for him, or had felt something for him. That last possibility was depressing, so his mind naturally wanted to dwell on it, but he banished it with some force.

Hermione _cared_ about him. Judging by the way she occasionally eyed him like the last lollipop in the shop, there was definitely a measure of lust involved there as well. Lust and caring…well, that was more than completely platonic friendship. Granted, he wasn’t an expert on friendship, but friends did not _sniff_ friends when they weren’t paying attention. At least, he didn’t think so.

All of which meant _nothing_ because she was getting married in less than a day.

Severus stood in the middle of his office, glaring at the Penseive. Damn the thing anyway, for showing him what he couldn’t have!

“I take it she’s not madly in love, then?” Dilys said with such disappointment that Severus found himself almost smiling.

“I couldn’t comment on the state of her heart,” he said, his eyes drawn to the Penseive again. “But there is certainly… _something_.”

“Then what are you waiting for, lad?” Phineas Nigellus said, half-rising from his chair. “Go and get the girl already!”

“Phineas, need I remind you that she is getting married in less than twenty-four hours? To _someone else_?” Severus snarled.

“And whose fault is that?” Dilys asked snidely, glaring at Severus over her spectacles.

“Certainly not _mine_ ,” Severus protested. “I didn’t tell her to marry Weasley, did I?”

“You certainly didn’t tell her _not_ to,” Phineas said, and sat back in his chair with the air of one who had just made an unbeatable argument.

The hell of it was, he was probably right.

The stubbornly hopeful part of Severus felt like bursting into song.

“Do you…do you think there’s still…”

“Just _go_ , Severus,” Dilys said kindly. “If it all goes tits up, at least she won’t be working here next term. So what have you got to lose, really?”

Severus looked around at the pictures of headmasters past, all of whom were nodding at him in encouragement.

“You’ll never give me any peace if I don’t try, will you?” he said, and they all shook their heads at him. He sighed. “Very well. But if it all goes wrong, I shall blame you.”

“Blame us if you like,” one of the older headmistresses said from her perch high up on the wall. “Just for the love of Merlin, _go_!”

With a last sneer in their direction, Severus went.

He Apparated through the Headmaster’s Hole - ridiculous name for the gap in the wards that allowed for apparition for headmasters, if you asked him, though nobody did - and appeared on the doorstep of the Grangers’ rather lovely Kensington townhouse, where Hermione had planned to spend the night before her wedding.

He’d barely knocked when the door was flung open and Jean yanked him through it.

“Severus, thank God! Tell me you’ve come to your senses!”

“Come to my senses?” he croaked, but there was no chance to ask questions as Jean bustled him into the parlor, where Roger was pacing morosely.

Severus made a helpless face at the skinny dentist with the dandelion hair, but his reaction was ignored as Roger bounded over to him to clasp both his shoulders. He had to reach up quite a bit - Hermione came by her vertically challenged stature honestly from both sides. Whenever he was around the Grangers he felt rather like a Great Dane in a houseful of Pomeranians. Enthusiastic Pomeranians, who dispensed hugs and affection as though they had an endless supply which, perhaps they did.

“Severus, my boy!” Roger Granger said. “Tell me you’ve come to stop Hermione from making a terrible mistake!”

“I…er…” Severus floundered a bit, but then Narcissa’s decades of training in etiquette and comportment pushed its way to the fore, and Severus found himself taking Roger and Jean’s hands in his own and bowing over them. “I beg your permission to address your daughter, Mr Granger, Madame Granger.”

Roger’s eyebrows flew up and he looked at his tiny wife, who beamed at Severus as though he’d just announced that they had won the Lottery, cured cancer, and found the lost city of Atlantis.

“She’s upstairs,” Jean said, and pulled Severus into yet another hug before giving him a gentle shove in the direction of the stairs.

Time seemed to slow as Severus made his way up the stairs and to the door of Hermione’s childhood bedroom. He’d never been inside before, and as he stood in the doorway he couldn’t stop himself from casting a quick glance over the room.

It was everything he’d expected; a bookshelf groaning under the weight of its contents, a comfortable double bed draped in a pale grey comforter (Hermione had confessed to him once that she preferred her surroundings to be somewhat monochrome, to prevent her brain from going off on tangents as it had a tendency to do. She’d also implied during that conversation that she found his habit of wearing all black quite soothing, which had had him very nearly smiling) and a small table on which were photos of her friends. He was heartened to see that the photo of him (taken without his permission and he’d nearly hexed the little witch for it) was rather larger than any of the others.

His witch - when did she become _his_ witch? - was sitting on her bed with her back to the door, staring out the window. Her shoulders were bowed and she looked strangely lost - definitely not the image of a bride on the eve of her wedding.

He cleared his throat, and she sighed.

“Harry, I told you, he doesn’t-” she stopped as she turned and saw him in the door. “Severus.”

“Yes,” he replied. “May I speak with you, Hermione?”

She stood, clearly flustered, and stilled her fluttering hands by clasping them in front of them.

“Of course,” she said, and managed a smile, although it looked sad. _She_ looked sad, and her eyes drank him in as though it might be the last time she saw him. “What can I do for you, Severus?”

His mouth opened without his permission, and what emerged next bypassed his brain entirely.

“Don’t marry Weasley,” he said, and watched her freeze.

“I…what? I- I want children, Severus. I want to bring new life into the world, and last I heard men are useful for that. And Ron is the only one who’s asked - _repeatedly -_ so…”

“I’m asking,” his mouth said again, and she paled dramatically and swayed, setting a hand to the wall to steady herself.

“You’re…you’re asking me to marry you.”

Severus took a deep breath, and then he went to one knee in front of her, taking one of her hands in his. He felt a fool - he didn’t even have a _ring_ for God’s sakes, and a witch like Hermione deserved a ring.

“I know I’m not…you’re such an extraordinary woman, Hermione, and you deserve every good and beautiful thing in the world. And I’m not very good and God knows I’m not beautiful, but you hold my heart in your delicate little hands, witch, and if you marry me I vow there will never be a witch as loved as you.”

Severus could hardly breathe. He thought he’d managed to be at least a little romantic, but as he watched her eyes fill with tears he began to worry that he’d bollixed it up somehow, and his mouth decided to babble on.

“I…I didn’t think children would ever be in the cards for me, but if you want children, witch, I would be _honoured_ to be their father. And I would contribute my share of…nappies and such - you can ask Narcissa Malfoy for references on nappies and burping if you like, and I am good at reading stories. I won’t have them wearing pastels or red mind you, and of course they will need to be taught proper lab safety from a young age...-” Finally, blessedly, his mouth ran out of things to say, and he stared up at her in a combination of hope and bowel-knotting terror as she slid down the wall to kneel opposite him, her trembling mouth starting to smile.

“You want to marry me,” she whispered.

“I rather thought I’d made myself abundantly clear on that point,” Severus grumbled, but didn’t get to say much else.

This was because his arms were suddenly filled with a delicious, curvy little witch, who’d grabbed hold of his ears and yanked him into a kiss that managed to be both scorching and somewhat briney. That would be the tears, he supposed.

That was his last coherent thought for some time, as he wrapped his arms around Hermione, pulled her even closer to him, and returned the kiss with interest.

It was nothing like he’d thought it would be. There was no polite peck for a first kiss; they just threw themselves at each other, ravenous after so many years of restrained longing - at least on his side, he had no idea how long Hermione had felt…whatever it was she felt for him. Even if it was just lust and fondness, he’d take it - he’d take anything his witch cared to give him.

Finally, he pulled back and pressed his forehead to hers, meeting her still somewhat-teary brown eyes, the unfamiliar urge to smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Shall I take that as a yes, little witch?” he murmured, and savored the delightful sensation of having her shiver in his arms.

“Definitely,” she said with a joyous smile on her face. “I’ll definitely marry you, Severus. I love you.”

He pulled away to look at her more seriously, frowning a little.

“If you love me,” he murmured, “why were you going to marry Weasley?”

To his amusement, she blushed fiercely.

“Well, I mean…I didn’t think you were, um, interested, you know. In me, that is. And after the war there were all these witches and they were all _very pretty-_ ”

“Idiots, every one of them,” Severus grumbled. “Not a word of decent conversation among the lot of them. And didn’t you notice that there haven’t been any witches since we became friends?”

“I…um. Yes, I had noticed, actually.” Hermione said, refusing to meet her eye. “I just thought maybe someone had had a word with you about, you know, discretion, and…things. And anyway they were all really pretty and I’m -”

“Exquisitely beautiful,” Severus supplied, and she made a squeaky noise and looked at him, all wide eyes and flushed cheeks and he couldn’t resist kissing her again. _His_. This extraordinary witch was going to be _his_. He decided not to comment on the idea that someone had ‘had a word’ with him, or what his likely reaction would have been. He rather thought he’d have started at Avada Kedavra and worked his way up from there, back in the days when he had even less patience than he has now.

“I…what was I saying?”

“You were explaining your reason for agreeing to marry Weasley,” Severus supplied. “But first, I would like to stand. This is not the most comfortable position in the world.”

“I thought you weren’t interested in me,” Hermione said as they moved to sit facing each other on her bed, their hands still linked. “Ron was in love with someone who didn’t feel the same way, and he wants kids too, so we decided…I mean, there are worse reasons for marrying than being best friends and wanting to have kids?”

“There definitely are,” Severus murmured, stealing another kiss. “Of course I hate to disappoint Weasley, but…will you marry me, Hermione?”

“I already -”

“Now? Tonight? I can have us at Gretna Green in an instant-” he got no further in his argument, because Hermione had flung herself at him again, and was raining kisses all over his face.

“Yes, oh Severus you’re brilliant! And we can take my parents!”

Severus watched her bound to her feet, her earlier attitude of defeat completely missing.

“Mum! Dad!” she shouted, dragging him along out of the room without even giving him a chance to reorder his somewhat-mussed clothing. “We’re going to Gretna Green!”

Neither of them were entirely prepared for the cheering from the sitting room. In fact, it was rather more noise than even at their happiest the elder Grangers could produce on their own.

Realization dawned when they entered the room and found it crowded. Potter rushed over to Severus, exclaiming ‘God, I thought you’d never get your head out of your arse’ and delivered a slap on Severus’ back that nearly got him hexed. Draco gave Severus a pleased nod from across the room, smiling when Potter left Severus to lean against his side. The senior Grangers looked absolutely delighted with the turn of events.

His surprise was complete, however, when Ronald Weasley came tumbling out of the Grangers’ fireplace and rushed straight at Severus, who had no time to react before the ginger ape caught him up in a hug that nearly crushed his ribs.

“Snape, I _knew_ you wouldn’t let me down, you grouchy old git,” the oaf shouted, and staggered back when Severus hexed him.

“What on _earth_ ,” Hermione said behind him, only to squeak as Weasley picked her up and swung her around.

“What Weasley is trying to say,” Pansy Parkinson drawled as she emerged from the fireplace, “is that he’s very happy we didn’t have to go through with Plan B, which involved me objecting at the actual ceremony.”

Hermione put her hands in front of her mouth.

“You mean, you finally-”

“Months ago, Granger,” Parkinson said, her wine-red mouth curling in a smug smile. “It seems I’m not nearly as slow as the Headmaster here.”

Several things became clear to Severus at once.

“You mean all of this was just an elaborate ruse to…force me to admit my feelings?” he asked grimly, preparing a litany of hexes in his mind.

“Well, not all of it,” Weasley said, wrapping an arm around Pansy and still grinning like a loon. “If Pansy hadn’t come to her senses and admitted that she was arse over tits for me, I’d have gone ahead with the wedding. Hermione’s one of my best friends, after all. But she did, and when I told her about Hermione’s feelings for you-”

“I naturally informed him that you had been pining over her for _years_ ,” Pansy said, “at least according to Lucius Malfoy, who is a really chatty drunk, and so we decided to see if we couldn’t get you to come out of hiding with a bit of applied pressure.”

Suddenly, the fact that so many of the people he knew suddenly couldn’t shut up about the upcoming wedding, no matter how snarly he got, made _so much sense_.

“Got to tell you, Snape,” Weasley said, punching Severus’ shoulder companionably, “I was beginning to have my doubts, but when Hermione’s mum phoned Harry-”

“Who was on the way to the school to talk some sense into you,” Jean Granger supplied, “and if all else failed was going to convince Hermione to call the wedding off by telling her about Pansy’s change of heart-”

“Well, we all had to come and celebrate, didn’t we?” Weasley said.

That was it. He was going to hex them all. Every single one of them. He was going to hex them until they were _dead,_ and then he was going to _continue_ hexing them until they were _very fucking sorry_.

Severus froze in the process of drawing his wand when Hermione wrapped one dainty hand around his arm.

“Much as I’d love to join you in hexing the lot of them” she said with a smirk, “weren’t we planning on going somewhere?”

Severus considered his reactions.

A part of him, the wounded, always-defensive part that hated being the subject of any conspiracy, wanted him to retract his proposal, go back to Hogwarts, and get completely ratted.

 _And then what_ , the other part of him asked. _Then Hermione marries someone else someday and you die alone to be eaten by Nargles, that’s what. They want you to be **happy** , you enormous fucking tit! Look at all the effort they made to get you to reach for the one thing in the world you want! Are you going to cock this up just because you’re a paranoid arsehole who can’t tell a good thing when it snogs his face off?_

He could do it, he knew he could. And the little inner voice was right. If he lost Hermione, he would die alone, because there could never be anyone else for him, not after experiencing the scorching fire of her kisses.

So was he going to let his wounded pride ruin the best thing that ever happened to him?

No.

Because _Severus Snape was not that fucking stupid_.

So he let go of his wand, carefully covered Hermione’s hand with his, and grinned at the assembly until it felt like his face would crack.

“Yes, I believe we were. Would any of you care to accompany us to Gretna Green to see the results of your hard work?”

The cheering threatened to lift the roof.

 

 


End file.
